


SCHWANSEE

by Grondfic



Category: 19h century CE RPF, Ludwig of Bavaria RPF, Swan Lake
Genre: 19th century CE RPF - Freeform, M/M, Swan Lake ballet, Uncategorized fandoms - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-28
Updated: 2010-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:37:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grondfic/pseuds/Grondfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the 19th century, King Ludwig of Bavaria dreams his ideal - The Beloved Swan - whilst in 2007 Hiranu, a dancer from an all-male ballet troupe, dances alone on an outdoor stage set by Schwansee near Neuschwanstein, Ludwig's fantasy palace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SCHWANSEE

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the facts of Ludwig's life mentioned here are accurate. However, mystery lies over his tragic death near Starnberg; and I have put my own interpretation on the known facts.
> 
> Hiranu and his dance troupe are of course fictional; but are based on members of two real-life troupes. Ballet experts could doubtless put a name to these.

**1\. Hunter's Moon: Oktober 1867**

Ludwig was twenty-two when he first saw the Swan-Dancer.

He was in retreat at Hohenschwangau following the end of his disastrous engagement. Duty, in its most acute form, still warred agonisingly with the young king's Inner Self; and his devout Catholicism offered no source of comfort.

He knew – none better – how much the absolute core of his being rose in revolt against both Dynasty and Religion. He was God-cursed – and yet he could no more relinquish this thrilling pull that drew him to his Master-of-Horse, or intensified his feelings towards his tender new soul-friend Richard Wagner; than he could give up his crown, his life.

The Hunter's Moon leapt upwards, in the very traces of the setting sun; reflecting its overwhelming disc in the waters of Schwansee – the Swan Lake – below the schloss. Ludwig's inchoate yearning spread outwards from his high vantage-point to encompass the water below….

… and, from the mists at the lake's far reaches, an image rose in response.

* * * *

**2\. Festival-tide: October 2007**

Sod it! Understudy again!

Hiranu Enokki looked mournfully over the expanse of water, thrillingly misty below the sheltering schloss; and yearned to become Odette at last.

He'd had enough of "First Cygnet" – charging (to uncertain audience laughter) downstage, cleverly interlaced with three others! It was time he got a chance at Lead. He'd served his apprenticeship – and then some! – with this crazy team of balletic cross-dressers.

But no – The San Francisco Trucking Ballet-Boys (alias The Trucks), had once again consigned their sole Japanese representative to chorus-and-understudy in this rather unique performance of the complete _Swan Lake_, to be danced outdoors on the original Schwansee as part of a dance festival dedicated to some old-time king.

Rollova, sweetie," the Director had used Hiranu's female stage-name for emphasis – always a bad sign, "I know I promised, and I'd love to play you, really I would! But – you know Peaches – I'd never recover from the ear-bashing if I knocked him back on this particular show! Be kind to me, sweetie, and lay off, hmmm? Next time! … I absolutely promise ….swear on my mother's ass … Hey - I could offer you Benno, if you don't mind being Rytov Springski instead of Rollova Baethövina …. No? …. Well, First Cygnet it is then!"

Hiranu had gone away, disappointed but not entirely surprised, to prepare for the flight to Europe.

He had grown up with successive versions of _Swan Lake_ as his main inspiration; and had long felt that he owed some kind of thanking ritual – to Tchaikovsky, and to a rather vague Russo-Germanic Romantic ideal.

He therefore resolved – since he was here at the very Lake of Swans - that he could do no less than dance the whole of Odette's role, alone on Schwansee.

So he had sneaked out of the hostel, leaving the guys to settle in, and scandalise the locals with their screamingly camp behaviour in a local bier Keller. He took his shoe-bag containing his satin hand-made-to-his-exact-size, ballet shoes; but not his usual clutter of working leotard and leg-warmers. Tonight he was going to BE Odette – alone on the swaying, creaky stage, slung low over the waters of the Schwansee, here in the oldtime King's fantasy-landscape. It was his own, private ritual.

The costumes were stashed in the rather primitive practice room and dressing complex, housed in a series of picturesque alpine nissen huts hidden behind the reed thickets at the lake's far end. Hiranu – aware that the local authorities were a little behind-hand with state-of-the-art alarm systems – broke in with relative ease; and found his swan-costume without difficulty.

It felt strange at first to be outside in the chilly night under a brash, orange moon; with only the quiet slap of the water and oddly magnified night-noises for company. Hiranu spent time setting up his specially-recorded tape of the music (minus the whole of Act 1, naturally!). He set about the part of the swan-princess Odette with some carefully prepared choreographical amendments which reflected the fact that all the _pas de deux_ must be danced with an invisible Prince Siegfried.

He was halfway through his first arabesque when he became aware of a subtle presence; not-quite-visible, but warm, near, appreciative and almost tangible. Tentatively, Hiranu extended his right hand at the point where he would expect his partner to take it ……

* * * *

**3\. Hunter's Moon: Oktober 1867**

Ludwig watched, entranced, as the misty form rose from the lake accompanied by languid skeins of faint, sweet music. The dancing figure was neat, petit and trimly precise as it made exquisite shapes with its limber torso and slender legs.

It embodied feminine purity, and the wildness of the swan; and yet it was clearly, beautifully, desirably male.

Ludwig's very soul yearned outwards from its high vantage point on the castle rampart; until it alighted softly beside The Swan. Reaching gently, he took the proffered hand in his, and held it protectively.

* * * *

**4\. Festival-tide: October 2007**

Hiranu felt the answering pressure; but somehow knew that his spectral partner was inexperienced; unused to the language of the dance. He felt, however, the eager tenderness in the firm clasp; and (thus encouraged) was inspired to some neat Impro around his invisible partner's steadying grip.

He knew that the next move should be – MUST be - a Lift; and yearned to feel the strength of the Unknown's hands at his hips as he was swung aloft over his partner's shoulders.

*_Lift me!_* he thought desperately, as the music imposed its stern discipline on the dream of synchronised movement, and directed him though the steps ……

On the exact and climatic beat, his thighs were grasped lightly and he was swung high above the swaying stage, over the gently-lapping waters. Perched on invisible shoulders, he yearned upwards towards the triumphal moon in its iced-velvet sky.

His body, thinking for his numbed and bemused brain, melted into the swan-pose. His arms lifted and transformed into fringed, air-beating pinions. His chest thrust itself forward and his neck extended so that his torso became an exquisite bow, aimed directly at the moon's blood-infused disk. Confident that he was anchored by the firm careful grip on his lower body, he flung himself skywards as the music climaxed.

* * * *

**5\. Hunter's Moon: Oktober 1867**

The Swan cried out in desperate demand to the moon.

Ludwig finally discerned that his purpose – here on the beautiful, imperfect earth -was to raise The Swan beyond, into the Transcendent Imperative. He would devote his life to this; he resolved.

Sparkling liquid energy rose from the depths of the Lake, through his straining body and The Swan's; a silver arrow that sped upwards to impale the moon.

The Swan gave another thrilling cry; and vanished into the night.

Ludwig was left, exalted but unsatisfied, thrust back into his body on the _faux_-rampart of Hohenschwangau.

* * * *

**INTERLUDE**

**Festival-tide: October 2007**

Hiranu exited as Odette, all his senses tingling at the unseen touch of his spectral Siegfried. He was a little ashamed to have cried out; but he'd succumbed to the heady mixture of adrenalin and fear.

Really; he thought with a little _frisson_; it was very like _Giselle_, Act 2.

He sallied forth again, briefly, to attempt a solo Cygnet dance. This did not go too well, in spite of the fact that he knew all the choreography inside-out and backwards; and had even essayed the Matthew Bourne "male swan" variation.

It was just too difficult to accomplish without the three others, and the complicated enlacement of four sets of arms, which made the original Petipa dance so endearing.

He retreated to the inadequate backstage area once more, and took a quick swig of bottled water, preparatory to reappearing as Odette.

* * * *

**ACT 2**

**1\. Hunter's Moon: Oktober 1870**

The King sought Hohenschwangau – and the messy foundations of his New Swan Palace – in a state of anguish and doubt. It was the sixth year of his reign.

The war with France was being won. Paris itself was rumoured to be under siege; and Ludwig – agonised – had little choice but to allow his soldiers to fight on the wrong, winning side.

His idolisation of The Sun King had not been allowed to stand in the way as he entertained the Prussian Crown Prince in Munich that summer; and now he was in the process of killing one part of his soul in order that another might thrive.

His devotion to his building projects and the patronage of his soul-friend, Richard Wagner constituted the most important part of his life; now that Bavaria was barely his any more. His dreams, however, did not come cheaply; and so – in return for an unspecified sum arranged by Chancellor Bismarck, Ludwig had been politely requested to sign a letter proposing the Kaiser of Prussia as Emperor of Germany.

It lay on his desk, even now, awaiting his signature.

He sought his room, with its vista over Schwansee, in waning hope. He had not been granted a vision of The Swan for three long years ….  
* * * *

**2\. Festival-tide: October 2007**

Hiranu felt the pull, even before he emerged from the wings. The Presence was back, intensified by an intriguing darkness that fringed it – almost a mélange of Siegfried and von Rothbart.

An opaque shadow manifested; tapering upwards to a misty, but visible face.

A pair of large, dark, expressive eyes scrutinised him, deep-set, framed with straight brows and adorned with the sort of lashes that Peaches Pavlova would kill for. The generous, mobile mouth was bracketed by a finger-thin moustache and small beard that limned the rounded chin. There was an impression of luxuriant dark curls above the broad brow. The apparition was regal and beautiful; his ideal of Prince Siegfried.

Hiranu squeaked, and broke eye-contact, covering his embarrassment by reactivating the music tape. His relief in finding his Siegfried – misty, but nonetheless still present on his return – was palpable.

Next would come the most thrilling and important pas de deux of Act II, during which Siegfried and Odette cement their love, before the sorcerer von Rothbart arrives to force Odette back into swan-form, and part the lovers.

Hiranu took to the stage in a flutter of anticipation. His Prince was unschooled in the exact formalities of balletic lovemaking. It would be for Hiranu, therefore, to provide a lead – whilst simultaneously enacting a melting surrender. One helluva challenge!

* * * *

**3\. Hunter's Moon: Oktober 1870**

The mists retreated, and Ludwig could see The Swan more clearly than before.

As a man, this figure would be short. Even _en pointe_, he barely reached tall Ludwig's shoulder. The delicate oriental features, and speaking dark eyes might easily belong to a woman. Indeed – even this close, an untutored eye might be deceived.

However, Ludwig – accustomed to masked balls, carnivals, and even the rude midwinter fests of the Alpine peasantry in which men-women were common – was not fooled.

It excited him; and he forced back his customary feelings of shame. This was not – after all – one of the real servants, with whom he conducted an occasional secretive liaison. The usual self-flagellation and empty promises to God need not apply here!

Tenderly he extended his hand to cup The Swan's exquisite face. Beneath his fingers the smooth skin was warm and pliant, with barely a rasp at jaw and chin; but his circling thumb found, first the adam's apple; then an uneven pulse at the throat. It felt like the heartbeat of a snared bird; rapid and softly feathered, in his hand.

The King leaned forward. The Swan's face tilted up.

* * * *

**4\. Festival-tide: October 2007**

Hiranu raised his face more in hope than expectation. There were no guarantees when kissing a ghost, after all.

However, the mouth that descended on his was warm and mobile. It was also, he discovered, skilled and slyly knowledgeable too.

A solid – but respectful – hand descended on his bum beneath the foamy tutu. It lifted him effortlessly, so that The Kiss was somehow flattened our and made equal. His feet left the ground and his torso aligned naturally with that of the ghost's half-seen physique.

Hiranu's supple-jointed dancer's thighs lifted and clamped around a trim, invisible waist. The apparition staggered, then steadied under his weight as he settled.

This could be sublime, except that he and The Ghost were both inconveniently clothed. His tights, tutu-incorporated knickers and truss; and The Ghost's tight, military-style pantaloons appeared to be insurmountable obstacles.

Hiranu Roared his frustration to the indifferent moon……

* * * *

**5\. Hunter's Moon: Oktober 1870**

Ludwig almost laughed aloud. This was a DREAM, after all; so why was his Swan so agitated when inconvenient clothing would vanish, just for the wishing?

Ludwig accordingly made his wish.

His own clothes melted effortlessly. For a couple of struggling seconds he felt scratchily stiffened tulle and the hardness of a boned corset against his flesh. Then, as the Beloved emitted an unswanlike squeak, things were suddenly rearranged. He found he was holding a smooth, nude, amber-skinned youth with enormous startled eyes, his mouth bowed into an enticing 'O' of astonishment.

Ludwig could do nothing but cover that mouth again with his own. The golden Swan was wound close around him, moving languidly to the dictate of the faint, thin music. The supple dancer's limbs twined him like wild summer honeysuckle on winter-thorn.

This was his dream; so he breached the citadel effortlessly; impaling the quivering Beloved without stay or anguish.

The music, throughout and forever, dictated pace and a rhythm that was slow and dreamy, but having increasingly loud percussive strikes as it intensified to climax.

The Swan cried out once again, his arms pressing hard on Ludwig's shoulders. A ghostly spume engulfed the king's belly and chest, faintly perfumed with oyster and _trompette de la mort_.

Unseen cymbals crashed as Ludwig too climaxed.

Inevitably The Antagonist manifested, like an owl spewed from darkness.

* * * *

**6\. Festival-tide: October 2007**

With the submerged part of his mind, Hiranu knew that he was still dancing a lonely solo Odette on a fragile concatenation of wooden planks in a godforsaken lake in Bavaria.

The rest of him – Soul, Instinct and the scared remnant of Mind – was making love to his Prince on the shore of the Swan Lake during the all-too-short hours between magical midnight and drowned dawn; when Odette the Swan Princess was free to take her human form once more.

This was a Dance of a different (and much more ancient) kind; where his honed, minutely-trained body was impelled and subsumed entirely into the service of Desire – sought, implemented, gratified, fulfilled.

Neither dancing nor lovemaking had ever been like this before.

The music crescendo'ed to its timeless finale; and Hiranu found himself back (fully-costumed) in his Odette-role, as _Swan Lake_, Act 2 drew to its conclusion, with the appearance of von Rothbart the sorcerer who must part the lovers, and take his bespelled Swan back over the lake of centuries-old tears cried by bereft parents.

Hiranu extended one hand to his post-coital Prince, flinging the other arm wide to simulate the genteel and rhythmic tug-of-war that was supposed to take place between Siegfried and von Rothbart.

His free wrist was seized in a fast and demanding grip. He was unglamorously pulled with rough force for several steps across the stage, before he could assert his own strength, and dig-in his satin-clad heels.

His lover came in on cue to draw him back; and he took the opportunity to glance away beneath his lashes, toward his second captor.

The face was identical to that of his Prince; but the level brows were lowered, and the fine mouth was set in a line of outrage and denial. The apparition wore strict and excessive formal evening-wear. The silver cross of a military order caught the wan moonlight and blazed palely on its ribbon across the chest. Over the broad shoulders a heavy outer coat - collar, cuffs and lapels heavily furred – swung like a cape.

This peculiarly personal von Rothbart let him go, and back-stepped smartly, to loom behind them. Grabbing Siegfried's wrist in one powerful fist; and Hiranu's in the other; he forced them apart. Then, disdaining the dance altogether, he placed both palms on the Prince's chest and pushed backwards step by step. An unintelligible, but patently angry torrent of words flew from his lips.

The Prince dropped abjectly to his knees in a universal gesture that besought mercy. The Antagonist – his identical features twisted into a mask of Absolute Denial – folded his arms in total unforgiveness.

Both the ghostly partners dislimned on this stylised tableau; leaving Hiranu to effect his exit forlornly, in Swan-Odette's elegant, wing-beating sideways-tiptoe, into the wings.

* * * *

**INTERLUDE**

**Festival-tide: October 2007**

Hiranu took a longer break than usual between Acts 2 and 3. His soul might be leaping, but his brain was jangled and his body – sticky and damp – needed respite.

Furthermore, at this point in the plot, it was necessary to change costumes from the snow-white of Odette to Odile's identically-cut, sexy, figured-black. Hiranu was also in urgent need of clean underwear.

He took time to sit and think-through his ghostly experiences. It had been like a dream, but he was awake now and, although still committed to the ballet in its entirety, able to see the weirdness of the whole thing. Who was this guy? Ghost or no, he had a real personality – maybe even two of them, if the identical von Rothbart thing was genuine.

Eventually, he gave up on the ghost-mystery, and began to anticipate his moves. Act 3 would really be more than half-over by the time the seductress Odile made her appearance. He should prepare for some highly physical stuff, including the flashy and accomplished party-piece – the 32 _fouettés_ which would show off his skills _en pointe_. He hoped his ghostly lover would appreciate them!

Hiranu regarded his bare feet with distaste as he began to strip down. He'd once heard the ideal ballerina's physique described as "Torso of a fairy; feet of a gnome"; and this was becoming progressively true of him. The more _pointe_ work he did; the more often the whole of his body-weight rested – so apparently feather-lightly – on one toe within its blocked ballet shoe, the more distorted his feet became. However, beautiful the body was; however airily it appeared to float over the solid earth; the reality always involved hammer-toes, compacted feet-bones and permanently aching hips. It was just the price you paid.

Well, hopefully the Prince had failed to notice his imperfections during that brief dream-within-a-dream when they'd both been naked. Hiranu paused to savour that memory. His Ghost was so perfect – imperial, yet knowledgeable; tender, yet commanding. The pale, western body, lightly but duskily furred at chest, underarm and groin, had been exotic enough (even after Hiranu's six years in the States) to seem daring and exciting. Hiranu's head swam a little. He thought he was maybe in love!

He couldn't wait to show off his sexy side as Odile the temptress! The black tutu felt light on him; almost ready to fall off. He bound the tender torture-instruments that were his ballet-pumps to his feet, like the red-hot shoes in that folk-tale he'd suddenly remembered. He thrust the comparison away. He was ready!

Odile leapt forth into an imagined formal court-setting; seeking the tender Prey that might – if her father's plot were successful – become the ideal soul-mate.

* * * *

**ACT 3**

**1\. Midsummer Moon: 11 Juni 1886**

King Ludwig II, aged 40, stood at the balcony of his elaborate throne room at the top of his unfinished fantasy castle, Neuschwanstein, and looked out to where Schwansee glimmered in the distance.

It was almost two decades since he'd encountered The Swan; and now the fairytale – like the huge pile behind him – would remain incomplete forever.

He was under siege here. His treacherous ministers were on the point of having him declared insane and deposing him.

He'd been urged by everyone who had his good at heart to leave his mountain fastness; to show himself to the people in Munich; to appeal for their loyalty and aid. He would get it, he knew, just for the asking.

He also knew that he would not so trouble his subjects.

This was his citadel, his refuge, built for him at great labour and – sadly – expense. He would stay here until the Forces of smallness, philistinism and chaos overwhelmed the Dream, and took him away!

And … there might still be a chance … remote and tantalising … that he might see His Swan one last time.

* * * *

**2\. Festival-tide: October 2007**

The music called him forth, and Hiranu-Odile stepped into the moon-drenched arena.

He danced as he'd never danced in his life before. He embodied sensuality for the Moon, for Pyotr Illych Tchaikovsky, for Petipa and Ivanov the choreographers; and above all for his phantom lover. This was the most physical and earthy part of the ballet; and Hiranu met it head-on; like a Cretan bull-dancer.

The pull from two diametrically-opposite directions alerted him. Turning fast _en pointe_, he found first the von Rothbart figure's hot gaze fixed on him from the shadows.

The man was barely recognisable. If he had been forbidding before, this time he was monstrous.

Face and body were grotesquely bloated. His alpine-green, velvet-lapelled overcoat strained its buttons over the swollen belly that it inadequately covered. The balloon face was fringed now with full moustache and beard. From behind the slabs of flesh over the cheekbones, the same fine eyes looked from beneath their level brows in righteous condemnation. To Hiranu, they embodied all the Gazes he had ever received as he identified, first as a gay man in Japan; and then as a cross-dressing ballerina. Under that Gaze, his soul shrank within him.

A whipping turn took him away from those censoring eyes. Beyond – palely and mistily lurking on the lapping waters, hovered his Prince; beautiful but transparent.

It stretched forth a disembodied hand, as Hiranu attempted the opening of the black swan pas de deux. His fingers grasped air and he almost fell – tragically, comically – from his unsupported arabesque.

Von Rothbart was sneering as he turned back to grab his flailing wrist in one fist.

* * * *

**3\. Midsummer Moon: 11 Juni 1886**

The Swan was black! This could only presage a doom long-expected.

Ludwig gazed at it in blank dismay, mixed with a helpless longing. He was starkly aware that he was no longer the handsome, beloved king of yester-year. Now he was no longer fit for His Swan. Over a fleeting period of mere months sometime in his mid-thirties, his body had betrayed him; bloating up into a grotesque parody of itself.

So here he was – appearing to The Beloved in the guise of some small-town Alpine bürgermeister; fat, bourgeois and mean of soul.

Desperately he attempted to actualise his REAL self – the one that His Beloved knew best – onto the stage. But his gross flesh could no longer project his dream-self with ease. It manifested; but even he could see that it was weak, boneless, scarcely believable.

He sobbed aloud. Death was preferable to this humiliation.

Trapped, he watched as the Black Swan attempted to interact with his feeble and emasculated phantom of youth.

The puppet-self faltered, and The Beloved almost fell. Ludwig rescued the Black Swan, and hoped – hopelessly – that he would somehow be recognised.

The Swan flapped desperately in his hammy fist. He hated himself; and hated The Beloved for being so BLIND.

He flung the lithe body from him, raised his arm to heaven, and swore that he would never be fallaciously deceived by Youth or shallow optimism, ever again.

Tomorrow he would surrender; agree that the Soulless Politicians and perverted neuro-anatomists were right; and allow himself to be incarcerated! He would accept the madness. Why fight it any longer?

The Black swan – wing-broken – was floundering away over an increasing expanse of cruel water.

Ludwig wept as it dislimned.

* * * *

**INTERLUDE**

Jesus! That had been weird. And heartbreaking! Hiranu felt guilty, as if he and von Rothbart had been conspiring to drive away – not the desperate Swan-Odette who usually appeared outside the palace-window in the ballet – but an attenuated vision of Prince Siegfried. Who had betrayed whom, here?

Hiranu shed a few tears for the lost idyll of Act 2. He wondered also at the strength and oddly deep darkness in his von Rothbart.

Would His Prince return for the final Act? Who could tell…..

* * * *

**ACT 4**

**1\. Evening: 13 Juni 1886**

The dark waters lapped around Ludwig's feet as he pounded heavily and with increasing pneumonic distress, along the shingle. Beside him, the setting sun faded and died into the sullen depths of the Wurmsee by Starnberg. From behind him, he could hear the steady crescendo of pursuit.

Johann Bernhard Aloys von Gudden; psychiatrist and Neuro-anatomist extraordinaire! Ludwig's nemesis had taken it upon himself to pronounce the King mad without having physically seen or examined him. Ludwig had been condemned in absentia for his love of young male bodies, his extravagance, and for having invented a flying machine!

He hated von Gudden, who had always sought to tabulate The Infinite within the King; and on that calculation, issue a damning condemnation of a life.

Ludwig had been denied the water-death he sought on Schwansee, or his beloved Alpensee below Neuschwanstein. So he had cravenly allowed himself to be taken away from his soul's landscape; and imprisoned here in Black Starnberg with its heavy earthiness; and the demeaning spy-holes gouged in his cell-door.

He should have jumped when he was free to do so. Now, he would have to give this undignified, hasty death to Wurmsee, and not to his dreamscape! His personal Otherworld – pulled into existence in the Alps via the inspiration of Wagner's divine music, Prussian money, and a large amount of sweat and blood from his loyal Bavarian peasantry – was far away south, now; and lost beyond recall. But he would seek to enact – here by the shadow-lake – his final liebestod for Bavaria; the love-death that Wagner had written, under his patronage.

Perhaps His Swan would come at the last, to witness his demise.

* * * *

**2\. Festival-tide: October 2007**

Hiranu stepped onstage with distinct unease; not sure what to expect as the music started.

There was nothing save the quiet slap of water against the underside of the stage, and a faint hissing wind in the dry reeds.

Forlornly, Hiranu began his final scene as Odette; betrayed and distraught after von Rothbart's Odile-deception. This time, he thought dismally, he really WOULD have to attempt a _pas de deux_ for one!

Fleeing an imaginary, repentant Prince, Hiranu chanced to glance outwards across the lake. In the fainter light of a now-declining moon it seemed more sinister; darker, deeper and stretching an endless distance. Across it, a path of golden sunlight which was not a part of Hiranu's October-night, suddenly manifested.

Movement caught his attention on the left-hand shore. Against an alien configuration of trees, on an enlarged shingle-beach, two figures were struggling.

The large figure of von Rothbart was unmistakeable. He seemed to be attempting to free himself from the desperate grip of a second, slighter figure.

As Hiranu watched, stock still at centre-stage, his dance temporarily forgotten, von Rothbart bent and seized a weapon from the ground. As he raised it high, and brought it down with crashing force across his opponent's forehead, Hiranu saw that – incongruously – it was a man's black, furled, umbrella. The antagonist collapsed slowly into the shallows.

Von Rothbart tore free of the slackening grip, and rushed forward into the water. Before wading into the deeps, he stopped to divest himself of his heavy outer coat. He straightened, standing tall and gazing over the lake, direct to Hiranu. The heavy face lit up, and the pouting lips moved to call an incomprehensible greeting. Fixing his eyes – the eyes of Prince Siegfried – on Hiranu, he walked forward slowly until the dark waters rose about his shoulders.

"No!" shrieked Hiranu, as realisation struck; but (nightmare-like) it only came out as a whisper.

This was no monster or ballet-villain at all! It was merely His Prince, committing the inevitable sin of growing older, and the lesser one of gaining an impressive amount of weight!

In spite of this, it seemed Siegfried had defeated a von Rothbart of his own; and was swimming – quite astonishingly well, given his physical shape – towards the stage.

Hiranu began to will him on, calling Japanese love-names in his useless shout-whisper, and extending his arms in encouragement, or supplication.

His Prince almost made it.

* * * *

**3\. Evening: 13 Juni 1886**

As he waded into Wurmsee, its black emanations vainly striving to impede him with a treacly undertow, Ludwig was supremely happy.

He'd finally completed a real Enaction; and conquered his enemy. He even spared a smile for the ironic fact that it was his opponent's umbrella through which he had wrought the victory.

He didn't look back at the slumped heap that feebly struggled in the shallows as he struck out for the shining point on the lake where His Swan was dancing, light-footed, on the edge of the sun-path.

He had always been a strong swimmer. Water was his element; his destiny.

Now, it caressed his limbs as he cleft it lightly as air; allowing it to bring him gently to The Swan's feet.

The Swan leaned down. Ludwig stretched his length to grasp the proffered hand.

* * * *

**4\. Timeless-time**

For a brief interval, both sets of hands were doubled-clasped; real and warm, one pair within the other.

* * * *

Hiranu felt the seductive tug that The Prince exerted; and contemplated for one eternal instant, a shared grave at the absolute roots of this strange, yet intuitively familiar land of sublime heights and breathtaking depths.

* * * *

Ludwig, poised between the elements of Air and Water; between Swan and Peacock; felt the imperative pull of a glorious liebestod shared between himself, His Swan, and the Land he had ruled.

* * * *

Hiranu – suddenly aware of danger – gasped, and pulled away.

* * * *

Ludwig sighed in completion; and pulled His Swan nearer.

* * * *

The tension built, broke, and spilled away.

* * * *

The Swan's hands slid through his like water, and Ludwig kicked desperately upwards from the surface, towards the final vision of his lover, now dislimning once again into golden nudity.

At the apex of his heavy salmon-leap – a change began.

_Something's happening to me!_ ….. he thought …..

* * * *

As The Prince's hand slid through his fingers like smoke, Hiranu cried out one last time in mingled relief and loss.

Petrified, he watched the heavy body (eyes still fixed on him, but leaking their bright life like a fish on a slab) jerk once, twice; and begin to sink slowly below the surface, mouth slack and gaping.

In the same instant that he recognised death, in its absolute and most grotesque form, a luminous ribbon issued from the dark cave of the mouth. It hovered, shivered and slowly took form.

His Siegfried – young once more, and radiant – regarded him; full of love and sensual promise. He yearned upwards; felt the press of a nude body on his, and then expelled his own ardent breath into a mist of silver droplets, as the vision faded into the air, and water, and solid bones of this place.

The Landscape pulsed once; and was still.

* * * *

**5\. Festival-tide: October 2007**

Faced with this real, regal sacrifice, Hiranu felt his stage-death as Odette to be as painted and fragile as a blown egg. He accomplished it in an abbreviated, symbolic form that was less an apotheosis as a hasty stringing-together of several balletic clichés. He even managed to finish a little ahead of the music. What a tragic farce!

He fled the stage, with its faint glimmer of moonlight; and collapsed in a bedraggled heap of feathers and tulle, behind a stack of scenery.

There, in the blessed, familiar darkness of backstage, he cried for what felt like the rest of the night – until his throat and eyes were swollen half-closed (the lashes tangled together with gluey mascara); the skin of his face was sore and roughened, and his head pounded like an unforgiving timpani-obbligato.

It was a heavy thing to be the recipient of someone's willed death.

The moon had set, and the featureless sky breathed a chill pre-dawn exhalation as he finally staggered up to remove all traces of his presence here. His supple joints betrayed him, and he fell around like a drunkard whilst he got himself back into street clothes, hung up his sodden costume, gathered his effects, and reeled out into the grey prescience of a new day.

* * * *

**CODA: October 2009**

Hiranu stepped daintily across the stylised stage-area. The willow-pattern bridge provided a backing; and he would dance slowly onto its miniature span to meet his phantom lover later this evening.

He hoped they'd get a full house – for all the kids, if for no other reason. He'd gone to the local western-ballet dance school for his chorus of pre-adolescent Swans, and had been swamped with volunteers. At least all the parents and relations would undoubtedly buy tickets!

This mixed-media event was not, in any case, _Swan Lake_ itself, although the ballet was obviously referenced; and he'd based the western-dance elements on its choreography.

No – in reality this was the story – told via elements of Noh and Kabouki (plus some mind-boggling acrobatics from a troupe run by a school friend) – of a love-affair between an actor-dancer and a kingly ghost.

It was the opening night. It had taken him two years – since his ignominious exit from the Trucks – to get to this!

From the unfinished Disney-castle of Neuschwanstein, via some rather nasty and equally unfinished business between himself, the Director and a very catty Peaches Pavlova, he'd fled. He left both the Company and Bavaria within a week. He'd taken a vow to honour his king fittingly – but in his own way and through his own native traditions.

Now the piece was ready.

Maybe his lover would consent to obviate space as well as time, and attend his opening night, here at the foot of Mount Fuji ….

Hiranu hoped so.


End file.
